


Little Sparrow pt. 2

by anonymousmadame2911



Category: Hugh Ransom Drysdale - Fandom, Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Light BDSM, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Consensual Spanking, Oral Sex, Sassy Reader, Spanking, Squirting, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, mildly domestic Ransom Drysdale, sweating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:15:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24084958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymousmadame2911/pseuds/anonymousmadame2911
Summary: You thought all Ransom wanted was a one-night stand. You gave him that.Why's he back?face claim is Kat Graham by request.
Relationships: Hugh Ransom Drysdale/woc, Ransom Drysdale/Original Female Character(s), Ransom Drysdale/Reader, Ransom Drysdale/You, Ransom Drysdale/woman of color
Kudos: 35





	Little Sparrow pt. 2

A tired sigh escaped your lips as you slammed the trunk of your beat-up Toyota. Another performance. Another dive bar. The evening sun illuminated your bronze skin and you soaked it up for a minute, focusing your mind before you had to perform. The bar looked like something you could film a horror movie in. 

“Hey, I’m singing tonight.”  
“Sure. Let me get the manager,” the bouncer replied.

The manager, a string bean of a man, showed you around the small bar. 

“That’s about it. This is Mickey. He’ll give you all the free water you can handle. Cocktails and food are 50% off for performers.”

You ate at home, scrimping and scratching to save every dime you could to get to your next gig. The small bar slowly filled up with patrons. As the night wore on, they got more and more drunk. 

“Hey! The manager wants to know if you want to sell your CDs at the door. He found a small collapsible table--”  
“Oh! My God, that would be awesome.”  
“So, when your set’s finished, we’ll leave the table by the door and you can set up shop until we close.”

Your set closed out to whistles, hoots and applause. You had a strong performance tonight. You felt good. Hopefully your CDs would sell out too. You ran to your car and grabbed the box of CDs from the trunk. It took a bit of muscle to get the box to the door, but you were strong. A tall, blue-eyed white devil held the door open for you just in the nick of time. 

“You again,” you muttered.  
“Me again,” he smirked, “I heard you were performing tonight. So I had to see if your public or private performances were better…for comparison…you know.”  
“I should’ve known you’d have a friend in a biker gang,” you rolled your eyes at him and set the box on the table. “What do you want, Hugh?”  
“You.”  
“You’ve had me, remember?”  
“Very well,” he tugged at himself.  
“Do that again, and I’m calling the cops.”

He tucked his hands deep in the pockets of his camel-hair coat and pulled out $5. This dick. You snatched it from his hand and tucked it into your bra. You handed him a CD.

“Are you waiting for a receipt? I don’t give those out.”  
“Nope.”

His eyes lingered on your face.   
“You can call me Ransom, by the way.”  
“Really? I think I’ll stick with Hugh.”

He rubbed his forehead and let out an aggravated sigh. 

“You know, I’m trying to open up to you, but you’re making it difficult.”  
“Good.”

You turned your back to him and finished arranging your CDs on the table. The night wore on slowly and by 2 am, the bar patrons had stopped buying your CDs. You packed them away and found the manager. He paid out your $1500 in cash and promised to call again in the next few months for another performance. He said that the customers really responded well to you, but he was just being nice. The customers were two sheets to the wind and would have applauded at an earthworm wiggling across the stage. You toted the box back to your Toyota, craning your neck to see where you were going. An army green vintage BMW convertible and the damn blue-eyed devil were next to your car. 

“Let me help.”  
“No thanks. I can manage.”  
“I’m trying to be nice, but go ahead. Break your back.”  
“I think you tried that but it didn’t work.”  
“Hm. That’s not what I remember. I distinctly remember you making a mess in my grandfather’s office.”

Your pussy throbbed at that memory. How terrible would it be to give him another ride? Call it a 2-night stand? Before you could finish your thought, he pressed his warm, smooth lips to yours, surprising you. 

“Wha—what are you doing?”  
“I’m kissing you.”  
“Uh. No. I have things to do—”  
“Yes. Me.”

You struggled to open the trunk of your car under his piercing scrutiny. 

“Need some help,” he chuckled.

You popped the trunk open, nearly falling in halfway. You dropped the box in the trunk. You locked your trunk and judged him slowly. 

“I can drive you back in the morning—”  
“No.”  
“You can drive me back in the morning?”  
“No.”

An awkward silence filled the space between the two of you.   
“Get in your car. You’re going to follow me back to my apartment.”

Yes. It was a piece of shit studio apartment. But it was yours. You paid the rent and all the bills on it. Nobody else. You weren’t born into money. You didn’t wear Prada boots in the snow. You didn’t have Zak Posen dresses. If he wanted you, he’d have to play by your rules. You backed out of the parking lot, checking the rearview mirror to see if he was following you. He’d have plenty of time to turn around and go home if he wanted. Pulling into your apartment complex, he parked next to you. 

“No security gate?”  
“Nervous your toy is going to get stolen?”  
“Nope. Just asking.”  
“Condoms?”  
“Yup.”

He pulled out a ribbon of 3 square foil packets. Trojans. Magnum XL. 

“That’s all you got?”  
“Do I need more,” he squeaked.  
“I’m making the most of this situation. Do you think you’re really an XL?”  
“You would know.”  
“No I wouldn’t. Men lie about their size all the time. I only know for certain when I have a ruler out.”  
“You drive me crazy.”

He tucked the condoms into his back pocket and tucked his coat in the trunk of his car. 

“Let’s go.”  
“Waiting on you, Hugh. You sure you don’t have more condoms in there?”  
“How many do you want?”  
“100.”

He popped open the trunk of his car and pulled out a box of 16 condoms. 

“Will this be enough for tonight at least?”  
“We’ll make do.”  
“We’ll make do,” he mocked you, pinching your ass.   
“I’m gonna make you work for it tonight,” you stated.

You led him to the third floor and slipped inside your apartment. He pulled you into a fierce kiss before you could even lock the front door. 

“Wait a minute. Wait! I need to lock the door.”

He pulled back from you. You had to lean into the door, hitting your shoulder on it three times before the lock would finally fall into place. 

“You could just move into the Thrombey Estate. Be a full-time singer.”  
“What kinda weird kinky shit is that? I hardly—umf—”

He had effectively silenced you with a kiss, pressing you against the front door. Certainly no one was going to break in through the front door with the two of you against it. You pulled up the back of his shirt, pulling his hips into you. He teased you with his lips and tongue. He licked up the column of your neck and nibbled at your ear lobe, gripping your ass. You tucked your hand between the two of you, scratching up his happy trail towards his belly button. 

“You don’t play fair when you do that,” he muttered in your ear. 

He backed off of you and pulled you dress up and over your head. 

“A thong and no bra. Shit,” he hissed.

You bent down to remove your heels.

“Leave ‘em on.”

You strutted past him to your bed while he watched, tugging on himself. 

“Little ole me with nothing on and you’re still dressed. How unfair. You should take something off.”  
“I already did. My jacket.”

He leapt on you and pinned you to the bed. 

“You teased me all night and now it’s my turn. You’ve been so bad.”

He flipped you onto your belly. The first smack to your ass took you by surprise. You’d never done this with any other partner and never knew whether you would like it or not. By the fifth smack, you were warming to the idea. It didn’t hurt too much and it kept your ass warm. You were humping your mattress, seeking friction against your clit. You were desperate to get off. By the tenth, your thong was wet. 

“Apologize for being mean to me.”  
“No.”  
“No?”

He pulled down your thong to your knees and pulled your hips up. Your face was pressed into your pillow with your ass in the air. Finally, he was gonna give it to you. His heavy breathing masked the clink of his belt. He wrapped the worn leather around your thighs and secured it in place so you couldn’t move. Then, nothing. You heard the water running in your sink, then the hand soap and the squelch of hands and fingernails being washed. He sat on the bed behind you and smacked your ass again. 

“Let’s get down to business,” he muttered. “You’re a tease and now it’s my turn.”

A hot wet tongue worked its way between your folds. You jolted forwards in surprised. 

“No moving.”

He smacked your ass again to emphasize his point. He slowly licked between your folds again and you pushed back into him. He slowly licked again and thrust deep into your pussy. He leaned back and smacked your ass again. Why was he wearing so many clothes still?! He knee-walked his way onto the bed behind you and pressed his torso against your back. 

“I’m on a treasure hunt.”

He slid two fingers into you with the palm of his other hand against your lower belly. Oh! You pressed your ass against him, feeling his dick hard as steel. He wiggled his index and his middle fingers in a come here gesture and rubbed his palm in a clockwise motion on the outside. Oh fuck! That was the spot—delicious, burning—and he knew what he was doing. Your hips rocked into him but his weight held you in position along with the belt tied firmly around your thighs. 

“Oh fuck—oh fuck—wa—wait—I’m—I’m gonna—”

He stopped. You were so close. You were in outer space and feeling good. You looked over your shoulder at him and he gave you a cocky smirk. The cream sweater came off. The pants came off. The black boxer briefs came off, revealing a well-endowed, girthy member. 

“I missed you,” you mumbled over your shoulder, still tied up.

He smirked at you as he loomed over you. He tugged at his member, looking at your compromising position. He stood up and dug through his pants, pulling a foil square from a pocket. He tore it open and rolled it down his shaft. 

“See? Fits perfectly.”  
“You sure? Looks a little big to me,” you snorted.   
“Let’s see how it handles when I punish you.”

You folded your arms under your cheek and nestled into your pillow, expecting a gentle thrust. One large hand stroked down your lower back, encouraging you to arch up. You crossed your ankles, flexing your feet with the heels still on. The other hand steadied your hips. In one smooth thrust, he filled you to the hilt. He pressed his torso against your back, locking you place. He thrust in and out of you inch by inch with his thighs and chest pressed against you. You pushed back against him to gain leverage so you could move against him, but he wasn’t having it. You reached back and slapped his ass. 

“If you make a mess—”  
“We? Nonono. You. You’re going to make a mess—”  
“No. I have one set of sheets—”  
“Fuck it. I’ll pay for the dry cleaning.”

He used his full body weight against you and your back burned. The tip rubbed your sweet spot right. You wanted more. You needed more. The coil twisted in your lower belly and it sent ripples of warmth from your pelvis throughout your body. Sweat slid between the two of you, soaking your sheets. 

“Look at that,” he panted, “your sheets are a mess now.”

His deep thrusts rhythmically stroked your sweet spot until the coil snapped. A wave of warmth, goodness, calm, and well-being washed through your body. You relaxed against your sweat-soaked sheets as Ransom pulled out of you. You looked over your shoulder to see him vigorously stroking himself. 

“Stop. Move.”

You sat up and rolled onto your side. You grabbed some Palmer’s Cocoa Butter and wiggled your way over to the end of the bed. You squeezed some into your hands. You twisted both hands up and down the shaft and head of his dick. 

“Oh shit, that’s good.”

You watched his face scrunch up and twisted faster, tightening your grip. The pink flush covered him from cheek down to chest and picked up again at his dick. He was so white. His grip on your shoulder left little crescent marks and you worked your hands faster. White cum exploded from his dick. You ducked your head to the side as it shot over your shoulder. 

“Watch where you shoot that thing,” you laughed. 

He twitched and convulsed and collapsed on the bed next to you. 

“We are not sleeping in this dirty ass bed with sweat and jizz all over it. We need to go to the laundromat.”  
“Ok. First thing in the morning.”  
“It’s 6 am.”

He eyed you from his face buried in the sheets. 

“We can go to my place and sleep there.”  
“Ugh. Fine. But I’m not sleeping in these dirty sheets.”  
“Pack ‘em up. We’ll wash them at my place.”

You struggled to get your legs to work. You worked your heels off of your feet and dropped them to the floor. You stumbled to the bathroom to pee. By the time you came out, Ransom had pulled off the fitted sheet, flat sheet, duvet cover, and pillow case from the bed. He was dressed and ready to go. You chucked on your dress and a pair of flip flops. You grabbed your keys and bundled up the sheets. You handed Ransom the sheets so you could hold your door closed while you locked it. The morning sun peaked over the horizon, giving the sky a light blue hue to the navy. He chucked the sheets in the trunk next to his jacket. You ducked into his car. He sped down the freeway and turned into a small donut shop. He picked up two donuts, two muffins and two coffees. He handed the bag and a coffee to you without a word. He continued on to his house, a floor-to-ceiling architectural gem set in a wooded neighborhood. The hedges blocked the view of any nosy reporters from the street. Once inside, there was a fireplace in the center of the living room with an unobstructed view of the backyard. 

“Through this door is the laundry room.”

He had fished your sheets out from the trunk without you noticing. He dumped the sheets into the washing machine with some detergent and set it on heavily soiled. He walked swiftly down a long hallway.

“Welcome to my bedroom.”

A California king size mattress was covered with four pillows and dark gray sheets. You left your flip flops by the door, slid out of your dress and wiggled between the sheets. You let out a deep sigh. The sound of the shower lulled you into a deep sleep.


End file.
